


The Stars

by WeepingRian



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Blood, But Not the Good Kind, F/M, Minor Violence, RSS, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:35:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeepingRian/pseuds/WeepingRian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle was never captured by the Queen when she left Rumplestiltskin’s castle. Instead, she returned to Avonlea, only to find herself condemned by the clerics. Rumplestiltskin may have saved her from her prison, but only Belle (and a strange room with blue lights) can heal her scars.</p><p>Prompt: dark castle, lost and found</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy RSS everyone! This is my gift to janiquebeingcreative!

Belle was pretending she wasn’t alive.

It was an all too easy task for her to accomplish, at the current moment. She was lying on a stone bed in the corner of a tiny room at the highest point of a tower. It would be the perfect start to a romantic adventure—one Belle was certain she must have read at some point—if it weren’t for the fact that she wasn’t waiting for a prince to come. No. Her _prince_ —if he could even be called that—was not going to come for her. He didn’t want her. He didn’t need her. And he certainly didn’t love her.

Or so she told herself. 

Even so, a princess in a story wouldn’t ever find herself in the position Belle was currently in. Her limbs were stretched beyond what could be deemed comfortable; if she moved, even slightly, she risked dislocating her shoulder. So she laid as still she could, even as her muscles cramped and her body shook from the effort. Earlier, the clerics had stopped by to remove her clothing, leaving her completely, and unfortunately, bare. Winter might not yet be upon the small, seaside kingdom, but it was quickly approaching and Belle was only too aware of that fact as the wind howled through the open windows.

They certainly enjoyed making her… _stay_ … as uncomfortable as they could.

Day after day the clerics showed up. They surrounded her bed, their dark hoods hiding their faces. Underneath, she could see silver eyes gleaming, like stars in the night sky. They held endless possibilities in them, but Belle quickly realized that they were only concerned with the ones that ended in the most pain. 

They would whip her, attempting to scourge her of the demon’s touch. They called her horrible things (“Devil’s whore,” they spat, “sinning, vile _beast_ ”) and Belle could finally understand why Rumplestiltskin so thoroughly believed he was a monster. When people called you such names with such conviction in their voices, you couldn’t help but believe them after a while.

So Belle laid on her bed of stone in her iron tower and pretended that she didn’t exist. If she was nothing, then she couldn’t be a monster. If she was dust, then she couldn’t feel pain. She wanted to be dead—prayed to all the gods she knew for the end to come—but it drifted just out of reach. She could only ever grasp the sharp edges, but the entirety eluded her.

“And how is the witch today?” a voice spoke sharply to her left. Belle’s eyes flew open. She had been so lost in her mind, in her attempts to forget herself, that she hadn’t noticed anyone entered.

As it was, five tall clerics stood together near the door, their hoods raised and their whips lowered. The leader, the shortest of the group and the one who spoke, was the only one bold enough to show the monster’s wench his face. His hood was around his shoulders, and a partial mask of the god of peace covered his eyes. It was the same god that wars were started for (all in the name of preserving the people, of course).

Belle knew she would never be able to pray in the temples again.

The clerics moved forward as a group, surrounding her bed. The leader stood to the right of her head, watching her chest rise and fall with each quick breath she took. Belle stared at him with narrowed eyes. She refused to show them fear anymore (but her resolve could only hold out for so long). So as the _holy_ man continued to leer at her, Belle glared at him, hoping that she could ignite his head. In her darkest moments, she liked to imagine what she would do to him if she ever escaped, what _Rumplestiltskin_ would do. Because, although her mind insisted that he didn’t love her (he would have come if he cared), her heart knew that wasn’t true. She knew her kiss had started to work, knew that Rumplestiltskin felt something in that dark heart of his, and knew that if he ever found out what this man had done to her, he would rip him apart. Belle had always prided herself on being a pacifist, but she couldn’t help but gain a certain amount of satisfaction from the thought.

But it didn’t matter. Rumplestiltskin would never come, and she would be dead long before she ever got her revenge.

The leader finally pulled his eyes upwards. He slowly lowered his face towards hers, his hand reaching out to stroke her face. Belle attempted to pull away, but the sharp movement sent spasms down her arms, locking her in place.

“I can see why the monster chose you,” he jeered. Belle repressed the urge to shudder. “Now,” he declared, pulling away from her, “I asked you a question. How is our little devil-girl today?” Belle looked away from him and turned to see out the window. Roughly, he grabbed her head, forcing her to look him in the eye. 

“I asked you a question!”

Before she had the chance to respond, a whip cracked down on her arm. Belle let out a hoarse scream; she had long since lost her voice, and each sound they managed to rip from her only served to rake along her throat and send her into a coughing fit. She was pretty positive her insides had to be bleeding by now. Her outsides certainly were.

A few tears leaked out the sides of her eyes, and the sounds of laughter haunted her ears.

“It’s no matter,” and Belle was suddenly reminded of a day long ago. “I don’t really care what your response is. You see, today is a very special day. You’ve been fighting us for so long, refusing to give up your monster’s secrets. You’re too far gone to be cleansed. No. The time has finally come for the witch to _burn_.”

**X**

Rumplestiltskin was trying to forget.

His couldn’t spin anymore. Every time he sat at the stool and attempted to get lost in the motion, an image of a bouncy, brown-haired woman would pop in his head. She would smile at him, as though she could see the sun in his eyes and not the moon, and would slowly lay her hand upon his leg. It would burn a little, and suddenly, they were kissing, and his lips were tingling and the world was falling apart… 

Rumplestiltskin would rip away from his stool before he got too lost in his memory (and the irony was not lost on him that he had ripped away from her in much the same way).

So he stopped spinning and he stopped dealing and all the desperate souls that came to his door were left out in the cold. Instead, he lurked around his great castle, pretending that its shadows were always that dark and its silence always that confining.

He pretended she never existed. He pretended he didn’t, either.

And so, Rumplestiltskin found himself in his chair in the middle of the Great Hall one day. A tea set sat in the middle of the table, taunting him. It was plain and silver and nothing like the ceramic, blue and white set that he and Belle had used. Still, just the sight of tea without Belle tore at his heart.

He reached over and knocked it off the table.

It fell with a satisfying clang, but nothing was broken and now there was tea all over the table and floor. Rumplestiltskin sighed. He waved his hand lazily over the spill and it disappeared in a whoosh of magic. He continued to stare at the place it had fallen, wishing that it could be just as easy for him to vanish…

A sudden knock broke him out of his thoughts. It tolled through the halls and into the Great Hall, banging at his head. He growled, frustrated that _those damn people would not leave him alone_. All he wanted was for them to solve their own problems—for once—and leave him to his.

But the Dealmaker does not get such peace, and the knocking continued. Three rapid bangs echoed through his castle. The knocker paused for just a moment, before continuing. On and on this went; all the while, Rumplestiltskin sat stubbornly in his chair, staring at the cabinet in front of him. He could out-wait this stranger; he had everything he needed all stored in one of his many rooms. They would give up long before he did.

What he did not anticipate, however, was them being bold enough to enter his castle without permission (for who would dare to face the beast in such a way?). The doors slammed open, and steps resounded against the stone floor as the foolish peasant strutted towards the beast’s main lair.

Rumplestiltskin was poised, waiting for the stupid soul to enter his vision so that he could _strike them down_ , when suddenly, the stranger spoke.

“You know, Rumplestiltskin, it’s not nice to keep guests waiting,” Jefferson announced as he moved into view. Rumplestiltskin lowered his hand, although he remained tense. He was prepared to eject the loony realm jumper from his castle if he got too cocky (as he often did).

“Really, where have you been? _Everyone’s_ been talking about it. You’re all the rage right now, you know. The source of all the rumors for the small-minded folk.”

“Goodie,” the Dark One muttered. Jefferson shot him a smile as he circled around the table. He stopped in front of the cabinet, surveying its contents.

“It’s actually quite entertaining. It’s the reason I came today. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t sprouted six horns and a devil’s tail.” Jefferson turned around and looked Rumplestiltskin up and down. “I guess I can assure the townsfolk _that_ one wasn’t true.”

Rumplestiltskin, despite himself, chuckled. It really was quite entertaining that he could spark such fear in the people of the Enchanted Forest. As absent as he was, he knew, even now, they were conjuring up tales of the evil deeds he must be doing in his great big castle. How shocked they would be if they ever learned that the worst thing he’d done lately was accidently burn the chicken for dinner.

Belle never burned the chicken…

“But I think my favorite one,” Jefferson’s voice cut through his thoughts, “is about how the beast is up in his castle, sulking, because… and get this… because a _girl_ broke his heart!” Jefferson started laughing, even as Rumplestiltskin froze in his chair, a look of shock with just a touch of outrage etched onto his face. Jefferson, oblivious to the emotions waging across the beast’s face, continued to talk. “Honestly, the things they come up with! Although,” he muttered, “I think the Queen might have started that one…” He finally opened the case, slowly reaching towards a crystal ball with swirls of black and purple and blue dancing inside it.

“Don’t touch my things!” Rumplestiltskin snarled, a bit of the biting imp shining through. Jefferson jumped and quickly snatched his hand away.

He spun rapidly around, a sly grin on his face as though he held the deepest type of secret in his heart, and slowly made his way back towards the Dark One. “Or maybe that isn’t so far from the truth?” he softly breathed. “You know,” Jefferson rapidly changed subjects, “I expect better service than this, Imp. I’m not feeling very welcomed.”

“It’s because you’re not,” Rumplestiltskin muttered. Jefferson ignored him.

“Where’s that maid of yours? Belle? I’d like a nice cup of tea, right about now.” He smiled at Rumplestiltskin, even as the beast glared at him. “What? Is she not here? I thought you dealt for _forever_ , Rumple. What happened? The pretty girl said _please_?” He laughed.

“Get out,” Rumplestiltskin growled.

“Now, now, Rumple, don’t be that way. I’m only having some fun,” Jefferson mocked.

But Rumplestiltskin was not in the mood for the realm jumper’s games. If he wasn’t worth so much, he would have already been turned into a toad for the garden.

“I said, get out!” Rumplestiltskin snarled. The windows shook and the lights flickered, as though everything in the Dark Castle was trying to move away from its master’s rage.

“Fine, I’ll leave. But then you won’t hear what I have to say. I have some information that I’m sure you’d just _die_ to have.”

“Nothing you can tell me is worth anything.”

“Now, I doubt that. How about we make a deal? I’ll tell you what I know and in exchange, you’ll make Regina… disappear. Just for a bit.”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin spat.

“Not from everything. Just from my life. She keeps asking for my help, something about a trip to Wonderland… it doesn’t matter. I just need her to get off my back for a couple days. Nothing too major, just a bit of…redirection in her priorities.”

Rumplestiltskin was unfortunately curious, and even worse, Jefferson could tell. He could never find it in himself to turn down a good deal, so despite his mind screaming no, his mouth said yes.

Jefferson smiled. “Deal! Now, there’s this kingdom near the shore: Allowai… Avoncray… Avolhay… something like that—”

“Avonlea?” 

“Right you are! Now, I’ve heard that there have been some exciting events taking place in this Avonlea place lately.” Rumplestiltskin was about to question why he should even care, when Jefferson held up a finger, quickly silencing any complaints from the Dark One. “Nah-uh. Don’t interrupt. I’m telling a story.” Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes at the childishness of his…friend. “Now, recently there’s been a lot of gossip coming from there, something about a girl who suddenly showed up. Apparently, they don’t get a lot of visitors. But, she quickly disappeared and they all thought that she had just wandered on. But just today, it was announced that she had been held for questioning in the castle. She was deemed a witch, and her execution has been set for this afternoon.”

Rumplestiltskin could not understand why Jefferson was telling him any of this. What did he care about some silly girl? Most likely, she wasn’t a witch, but the town wouldn’t care. She was a threat because she was new. If killing her kept the masses compliant, than so be it. Sacrifices had to be made, after all. Rumplestiltskin was only too aware of that.

“So? Why should this matter to me?”

“Well,” Jefferson drawled, “she used to be a princess. Now, they call her the monster’s mistress. That seems like the sort of thing you’re usually involved with.”

There was a moment of absolute silence in the Dark Castle, as Rumplestiltskin digested this information. There was no whisper from the candles, no tiny squeaks from the mice, no ticking from the clocks. Even Jefferson, in all his foolishness, knew better than to _breathe_.

Finally, the castle sighed as Rumplestiltskin looked up. He stared at Jefferson, and in that moment, the realm jumper could finally understand why some people refused to say his name, why even the mere mention of the monster caused the townsfolk to hide their children and lock their doors. In that moment, Rumplestiltskin looked as though he wanted to end the world.

And Jefferson knew, without a doubt, he could.

Slowly, determination blossomed in his eyes, and Jefferson only had a moment to call out a quick reminder about Regina before Rumplestiltskin vanished in a puff of smoke.

**X**

The first thing Rumplestiltskin noticed when he arrived in Avonlea’s town square was the lack of noise. None of the children screamed; none of the peasants talked. Above, the birds cried and the wind sang, but they were ignored. Everyone was focused on what was occurring in front of them.

Rumplestiltskin turned, following their gazes. In the center of the square sat a pyre with several formidable clerics standing around it. A small, auburn-haired girl was being led towards it. She could barely move her body; each step she took raked along the cobblestones. She stumbled and would’ve fallen if one of the men walking alongside her hadn’t grabbed her. At that same moment, a whip cracked down on her back and Belle lifted her face in agony.

Fire ignited in the darkest pits of Rumplestiltskin’s soul. It consumed him, burning through his heart until all he felt was rage. He twisted his fingers and lightning cracked directly above the crowd. They shouted and cowered, but Rumplestiltskin did not notice. He only saw his Belle being tied to a wooden pole. 

She had lost weight. Belle had been slim before, but now she was emaciated. Her elbows stood at a point, as though they were recently sharpened against a whetstone. Her paper-thin skin sunk between the crevices of each bone; he was positive that he could count each bone in her body. There were purple bruises along her cheeks, and red welts lined her arms and dipped below the collar of her dress. 

However, it was her eyes that caught Rumplestiltskin’s attention. Although staring directly at him, they held no recognition. They were dead to this world and resigned to the next. Her body lay slumped against the stake, as though death had already touched her.

Brave, strong, beautiful Belle had given up.

And out of everything Rumplestiltskin had just witnessed, that angered him the most. No one was stepping in to stop this. They were all sheep, intent on following the shepherd away from danger, even if that danger wasn’t real. None of them could think—none of them even wanted to—and for that, they all must die. And the holy men—the shepherds—would be the first to go.

As the anger built in Rumplestiltskin, a cleric in a golden mask began to speak: “We have come here today to witness the end of fear!”

The man continued talking, but Rumplestiltskin no longer bothered listening. He aimed his hatred towards the man, his hand slowly rising, and the magic inside him bubbling. He focused all his pain, channeling the destructive magic towards the cleric’s death.

Yet, when he snapped his hand, nothing happened. The man kept on talking—kept on _living_ —and Rumplestiltskin was left with a burning desire to destroy _everything_. How dare his magic fail him now! He was its master, and it would do as he said! 

He tried once more, this time attempting to ignite the ground underneath the peasants’ feet—make them burn, instead. Still, nothing happened, and slowly, a memory of a brazen voice drifted through his mind: “ _They will all live?_ ” And he had foolishly agreed. His deal with Belle, so many months ago, was keeping him from saving her. 

Rumplestiltskin had never hated himself more.

A torch was slowly being lowered towards the pyre, and Rumplestiltskin knew he had to act. He might not be able to kill any of the people of Avonlea, but he could still make them pay. His magic burst out of him, flying in all directions in a wave. It smacked into shops, crumbling them into dust. People were screaming; they attempted to flee, even as the ground under them rolled. Lightning sparked fires as thunder reverberated through the town like a lion coming for its prey. The castle, that stood straight and tall behind Belle, slowly toppled; the ground under it collapsed, sending the structure into the sea below it. 

The clerics were paralyzed by his magic as Rumplestiltskin strode up to Belle, ignoring the destruction around him. When he reached her, he turned around, and stared the golden-masked man in the eyes. He waited, for just a moment, his eyes hard and challenging before he lifted his hand. 

Amidst the townspeople’s astonished cries, they all vanished.

Rumplestiltskin arrived with Belle in her old room. The drastic change was haunting. Seconds before, terror had filled the air; now, the silence of the Dark Castle weighed on his chest and clawed at his ears.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head, attempting to rid his mind of the previous scene. It was not something he planned on remembering. He looked over at Belle sitting motionless on the edge of her bed and staring at the floor. Her expression remained as impassive as it had moments before; it was as though she didn’t even realize she had been set free.

“Belle?” he breathed. She ignored him. “Belle?” he tried again. Still, he received no response. He moved until he was crouching in front of her, his hand raised as though he was about to touch her face, although he never quite got there. He could feel the heat of her skin on his hand, scorching him. He snatched it away, and the motion finally made Belle glance up. 

His eyes pleaded with her and he struggled to keep his emotions out of his voice. “Belle, you’re safe now. Those…monsters…they won’t hurt you again. You’re with…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. His eyes shifted around the room, staring at anything but Belle. “The Dark Castle will listen to your demands. If you need anything, just ask it.”

Belle just watched him, with eyes that remained a strange mix of lifeless and omniscient. Even in her current state, they managed to pierce through him, seeing the core of who he was and what he couldn’t say. It was always her best quality: seeing people for what they were. But Rumplestiltskin never meant for her to truly know him. And he certainly didn’t want her to realize all the things he currently wasn’t saying. 

Neither of them was ready for that.

His eyes finally stopped on her arms, noticing the way she clutched them as though trying to hide the scars. The anger that had diminished since they’d arrived back suddenly reignited in his heart. He attempted to squash his feelings, for the moment. Belle needed him.

His hands shook as he waved them over her arms and legs. Slowly, the scars faded into thin, white lines as they watched. 

They both sat motionless for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Right. You must be tired. And I have things to do…important things, yes.” Her eyes ghosted over his movements as he tore away from the bed. 

At the last second, he turned around, noticing that Belle still sat immobile on the edge of her bed. 

“Try to get some sleep, Belle.” 

He pretended not to notice how she didn’t react to his words.

Rumplestiltskin rapidly left her room, only to stride to the next. Deep, in his darkest dungeon, the clerics were strapped to a wall. He didn’t want to keep them waiting. That would be rude.

He strutted in, a bit of magic bursting behind him, making his entry more dramatic. He was nothing if not a performer. 

Rumplestiltskin moved around the room, looking each cleric in the eye. Most refused to meet his gaze; it wasn’t until he came across the man in the golden mask that he finally was met with some form of rebellion. The man was situated in the middle of the room, given a prominent spot to survey all the damage that would be done. Rumplestiltskin wanted to make certain he suffered the most, after all.

Stopping in front of him, Rumplestiltskin bent down. The two beasts glared at each other for several moments, before Rumplestiltskin finally stood back up. “I think you’ll enjoy what is coming,” he muttered, before turning to the rest of the room.

“Unfortunately for you, _dearies_ , I can’t kill you. You have your _witch_ to thank for that. Instead, you will rot down here for eternity. You will pray for death, but it will never come. I’ll make certain of that.” He smirked, as terror leaked through the room. Each man was trying to be brave in front of the Dark One (and each other), but they knew in their heart of hearts that they would be made to suffer. Nothing and no one would save them. No soul in this world was brave enough.

“No. What you will get will be much worse than death.” 

In a moment, all the air seemed to be stripped from the room. The clerics stood there gasping, as a crushing weight mounted on their chests. They couldn’t breathe, or speak, or even expand their chests far enough to take a breath. Rumplestiltskin giggled.

“As for you, my golden-faced friend, you’ll get a taste of your own torture.” As though an invisible knife appeared, long cuts began to form on the man’s body. Slowly, his skin pulled apart, leaving clean, deep slashes along his body. Blood dripped onto the floor; each droplet that splashed acted as a marker for counting the time.

The cleric’s eyes bugged from his head, and his mouth gasped open as though he wanted to scream. Rumplestiltskin sneered. “For every ounce of pain Belle experienced, yours will be increased tenfold. I can promise you that. And I _always_ uphold my promises.”

He drew away from the clerics, moving to leave all this ugliness behind. “Have fun with your forever!” Rumplestiltskin called as the dungeon door slammed shut behind him. 

**X**

_The cool wind was blowing through the window as Belle crouched on her bed. Her head was on her knees, attempting to retain any heat she could. If it weren’t for the shivering, it would almost appear as though she was praying. But Belle didn’t pray. Not anymore._

_Suddenly, the door to her jail slammed open as five intimidating figures in black strode in. They glided along the floor towards her, as though they weren’t even walking (as though they weren’t even human). Underneath their hoods, their eyes twinkled like the stars that were shining through her window._

_Belle shoved away from them, her back slamming against the wall behind her. Her breathe spilled out of her in a whoosh, and she attempted to stem the tears that were building in her eyes. Her hands clawed at the bed as she begged them to end this._

_All the while, they ignored her. They come closer to the bed, their hands outstretched…_

Belle’s eyes slammed open, her heart smacking into her chest. She gasped in the dry air, looking wildly around the room before her eyes came to rest on the nightstand. Three potions sat within reach, a note saying “drink these” lying next to them.

Quickly, she grabbed them, downing each bottle before the taste could even register. As she finished the last one, she felt the pain in her back slowly fade away. Belle glanced at her arms and watched as all traces of her time in the tower vanished. She trembled, knowing that taking away her scars wouldn’t change what had happened.

She laid back, resting on the mountain of pillows behind her. For the rest of the night, Belle refused to sleep. She stared out the window, watching as the sky slowly turned from black to grey to white. Only then, did she allow her eyes to close to the sound of the wind whispering through her room.

**X**

Time passed slowly in the Dark Castle. Each day, Rumplestiltskin would return to her room, praying that it would finally be the day that some sort of change was sparked in Belle. 

It never was.

Instead, she would lay motionless in her bed, staring impassively at the ceiling. Day after day, Rumplestiltskin would sit by her bed, and Belle would refuse to react to his presence. He wasn’t entirely certain she had yet realized she wasn’t in her tower anymore. He had no way to convince her otherwise. For the moment, Belle was as much trapped in her own mind as she had been trapped in that tower.

He knew he just had to wait, but he was never known for his patience.

Slowly, Rumplestiltskin established a routine. He would arrive in the morning and sit with her till noon. After he ate, he would read or knit or tinker with the objects he had collected over the years. This would go on for some time, until night fell. Before he would leave for his room, Rumplestiltskin always made certain to read a few chapters to Belle from some of the books he had found on her nightstand.

It would be an almost comfortable existence, if it weren’t for the practically comatose girl lying in the bed.

Every so often, he would change the sheets or give her a sponge bath (only on the parts he could see, of course). The worst was trying to make Belle eat. It was the only time she showed any sort of emotion. He would practically force food down her throat; all the while tears would leak out of the corner of her eyes as Rumplestiltskin murmured apologizes.

But that would only last so long before the food was done and Belle went back to staring at her ceiling. Rumplestiltskin enchanted it one day to look like the sky, hoping that it would at least give her something interesting to stare at.

He was ignoring the rest of his duties. No one came anymore to deal. No one wanted to anger the beast. Tales of what had happened at Avonlea spread far and fast. Even the Queen, in all her foolishness, knew better than to disturb him.

And so, Rumplestiltskin closed out the world, and Belle closed out him, and nothing was all right.

It was three weeks before there was any change at all. When it finally did, Rumplestiltskin was entirely unclear as to whether he had dreamed it.

“You came for me.” It was the first time Belle had spoken since Rumplestiltskin had freed her. He was reading by the fireplace in her room, and was thrown out of his concentration when she spoke. He blinked up at her, uncertain that her soft, hoarse words weren’t just the wind.

“You came for me,” she said again.

This time, he moved from his seat, slowly walking towards the bed. She watched his every step, her face remaining impassive and immobile. It wasn’t until he had sat down on the edge that he finally spoke.

“Of course I did. What did you expect? That I would just leave you there, once I found out?”

Belle didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes slid away from him as she continued talking. “When I was locked in that tower, I used to tell myself that you didn’t love me, that if you did, you would’ve come. I wanted to believe that I hated you…for leaving me there…for not saving me. I waited, day after day, for you to prove me wrong. For you to show up. And when you didn’t, I thought it meant that I had made it all up and that you could have never loved the help.”

Rumplestiltskin remained silent, as Belle returned her gaze to him. It had taken on a piercing, knowing glint: the first sign of life he had seen.

“You came for me.” And Rumplestiltskin turned away.

**X**

After that, Rumplestiltskin noticed a drastic change in Belle’s behavior. She was trying to get better, that much was clear. It was slow progress; she spent most days in bed, silent and inert. But more and more, Belle was able to get up. She started reading on her own again, and even began to feed herself.

Rumplestiltskin was able to leave her for longer and longer periods of time. He went back to dealing part-time, although fear would often send him home faster than he cared to admit. He was unable to spend as much time carefully crafting terror into the hearts of the residents of the Enchanted Forest; many customers even came away from his deals almost… _happy_. 

Part of him knew he was destroying his reputation; the other part was more concerned with ensuring Belle’s every need was met. That part often won.

He never let Belle know what was going on. He would make up excuses for why he returned so quickly. Belle either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Usually, she barely reacted to his presence. For a while, he didn’t think she even cared if he was there at all.

That is, until one day, a deal went amuck. Jefferson was there, and as what usually happens when the realm jumper was involved, the plan fell apart. Rumplestiltskin was left to clean up the mess that was made and somehow managed to successfully pull them both out of the situation without either of them losing their heads (quite literally, in fact). Needless to say, it took several hours longer than he expected.

He had just arrived home, kicking mud off his boots and grumbling to himself about the idiocy of his…friend, when he heard a noise coming from one of the doorways off the Great Hall. He rushed off, anger burning through him at the thought that _someone had entered his castle without his permission_ , when…

“Belle?” He stopped. Belle was crouched on the stone steps that led to her room. Her body was shaking as sobs engulfed her tiny body. At the sound of his voice, Belle jumped and sprung herself at him. He barely had time to prepare, before she slammed into him, her head burying into the side of his neck.

“You were gone so long. I was afraid you weren’t going to come back,” she sobbed.

Rumplestiltskin was shocked, to say the least.

He held her there on the stairs, for some time. His head spun. She had barely acknowledged him these past several months, and now here she was, clinging to him as though her life depended on it. Maybe it did. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t entirely certain what was real anymore, but he accepted that maybe—just maybe—Belle needed him more than she was letting on. Pleasure bloomed in him at that thought, before he was overcome with guilt. She shouldn’t _have_ to need him, if it weren’t for those monsters in the basement.

Finally, she managed to calm herself down. She peeled away, taking several deep gasps of air. For several moments, Rumplestiltskin and Belle just stood in the stairway, looking into each other’s souls. Rumplestiltskin glanced away, and whatever tender moment that might have happened was destroyed before it could start.

He helped her to her room and spent the rest of the day in his.

The next night, Belle arrived for dinner in the Great Hall. She only ate a couple bites before the trembling started and she hastily escaped for her room, but it was progress. She was trying. 

Rumplestiltskin smiled. 

They were able to hold—stilted—conversations after that. Rumplestiltskin would tell Belle of his travels and deals. Belle generally only listened, occasionally asking questions or making comments. More and more, however, she would tell him about the books she read or stories she knew. She never talked about the future, and Rumplestiltskin never asked. He didn’t really want to know. One day, she would be well again. If she so wished, she could leave. Rumplestiltskin would not hold her back. Not again. 

He ignored the pain that thought would bring him.

But even as Belle appeared to be getting better, she still retained much of her darkness. There was a part of her that could not let go. Despite her progress, Rumplestiltskin could see that a part of Belle could not accept the idea that one day, she might be okay.

She would talk, but she never laughed—never even smiled. Her eyes still held a listless glaze to them, as though she was never fully present in the world. Oftentimes, she would suddenly wander out of a room or trail off mid-sentence, as though some urgent thought in her mind had demanded her immediate attention. 

Rumplestiltskin accepted these moments, as frequent as they were. He could not expect her to heal all at once, as much as he wished she could. A part of him wished that he could have been enough, that just his mere presence would’ve brought back the Belle he knew. But this was a selfish, vain thought, and one Rumplestiltskin would suppress as soon as it appeared. Belle had been strong when she had first arrived at the Dark Castle. She needed to be able to find that strength in herself once more. Rumplestiltskin could only lend support.

So he waited, as patiently as he could, for the day when _something_ could finally help spark life back into Belle.

**X**

It was a long and lonely night for Belle, similar to all the ones before it. Rumplestiltskin had long since slunk back to his cave—or wherever it was that he slept—and Belle was left alone to sleep (or more precisely, to think). She didn’t sleep very much anymore. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see those dark hoods with the gleaming eyes underneath. They never moved; just their presence was enough to drive a burning stake of fear through her heart. 

Instead, Belle would sleep in increments. Twenty minutes here, twenty minutes there, it didn’t matter. She never slept long enough for the nightmares to overtake her (and oh, how she wished they were just nightmares). During the day, she could imagine that the world was all right and that nothing she had seen had occurred. Rumplestiltskin would sit quietly by her side, spinning his straw into gold, and Belle would quietly read. They never spoke, and rarely moved, and Belle would wish that she had never kissed him—had never loved him—so that things would no longer be so tense between them. She wished he would order her to make him tea or make a joke at her expense or just do _anything_. Yelling at her would be better than this stalemate. But he was too worried. At any moment, she might collapse, and Rumplestiltskin did not know if he could put her back together. So he sat and spun and she sat and read and they both pretended this was normal.

But, in those moments, Belle was almost content. His presence alone managed to keep her shadows away. Ironic that the man that thrived in the darkness was the only thing keeping hers at bay. So she accepted what was between them and hoped that eventually, their pretending would become reality. Maybe if they wished it enough, the past would disappear.

But right now, Belle was not with Rumplestiltskin, and during the cold night, she was alone.

She lay on her back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling above her that was enchanted to look like the sky with twinkling stars (she had yet to tell Rumplestiltskin to take that away. He only wanted to help). The curtains were closed, and except for the dim lights above her, the room was dark. 

Belle never quite knew what to do during these hours. She had tried reading or sewing. Eventually, Rumplestiltskin questioned her about why she was partaking in these hobbies at night. She never knew how he found out, but decided to attribute it to magic (and his penchant for spying on her). After that, however, she stopped working through the night, stopped turning on the light, and would just lie in bed looking at her malevolent sky.

Currently, she was reciting Avonlea’s law code in her head, for lack of anything better to do. She had just reached amendment d of article 5 section 8—women are not permitted to own land unless all male figures in the family had been dead for over five years—when she distinctly heard a whispering noise beckoning her.

She lifted her head, looking around the dark room as all thoughts of law vanished. It was a consistent sound, as though the wind was slowly blowing through a small hole in the window. Yet, it was coming from beside her and not from outside, and Belle was entranced. Her hand crept forward, and a small part of her expected to encounter something solid. Instead, the sound glided away, as though it were a haunted, hollow ghost. Belle made to follow, slipping out of bed and slowly creeping towards the sound. It continued to move away, leading her outside her room and into the castle.

She followed the whisper through the dark corridors. There was no light to guide her, but she did not need it. Her feet moved, as though they knew where she was meant to go.

In that moment, Belle felt safe.

It was odd that she could feel that way when surrounded by the night. In her tower, the night was a time of waiting. She would stay awake, knowing that the minute she closed her eyes, dawn would arrive and her captors would reappear. And although Rumplestiltskin took her far away, he could not change the night for her. Instead of waiting to die, she now waited for a chance to be released from her fear. The night bound her to her past; during it, she was not Belle or the princess of Avonlea or the mistress of the Dark Castle. During the night she was only a degraded _witch_ , waiting for the hoards to come to kill her.

But now, there was something almost comforting about the night. It was shielding her from the horrors that hid in the corners, and protecting her from the evil that lurked. She couldn’t see, but then, nothing could see her. 

Belle almost smiled.

The whispering led her down corridors into the heart of the west wing. She stopped before a great, stone wall with a curtain swaying in the middle as though caught by the wind. The whispering sound was urging her to move towards it. It had stopped to rest against the curtain, pausing as though it was looking back and waiting for her. 

Belle stepped forward in a trance. Her hand pulled back the curtain, revealing a plain, mahogany door behind it. The whisper hummed in approval as Belle grasped the gold handle. She paused for a just a moment, steeling herself for whatever lay inside, before shoving it open.

She stumbled into what could only be described as an entirely other world. It was unlike anything she had witnessed in the Dark Castle. Hundreds of items were strewn throughout, on tables, cabinets, shelves, even the floor. A layer of dust covered everything in the room like snow. The ceilings were high and arched, not unlike the temples in Avonlea. However, they always made the temples feel imposing and restrictive; here, in this enchanted room, the ceilings added to the softness. They opened the room; it could have felt stifling due to the amount of things inside it. Instead, it gave Belle the strangest feeling that she was outside on a winter’s night.

Little blue lights bounced in the air, bathing the room in a soft glow. Belle was amazed by the magic that held them suspended. She reached out to touch one, but it darted away. Belle giggled. Slowly, the light bobbed back towards her, coming to rest on her palm. It was warm, like a sun-kissed pond on a summer’s day. It filled Belle with peace, soothing away any remaining doubts she had about entering the room. She laughed again as the light suddenly flew upwards to join its brothers. 

The whispering had died down, but it still sat in the corner, urging her to continue exploring. She walked through the aisles, exploring everything she could find. Her fingers slid on the objects, a wondrous expression on her face. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the same blue light following her, and Belle softly smiled to herself.

She had been walking for several minutes when her fingers encountered the sharp edge of an object. She stopped, picking up the gold and blue music box that had caught her attention. Belle gently caressed it, her fingers conforming to each groove in the design. Slowly, she opened the lid and a playful tune filled the air. It was a mixture of bells and violins, and Belle couldn’t help but be drawn in by the music. It left her feeling something akin to happiness; it was certainly the lightest she had felt in months.

So despite the quick tinge of guilt that flew through her, Belle decided to keep the music box. Certainly, in such a large room, no one would notice one tiny, little object missing? Still, she hurried away, afraid that at any moment, Rumplestiltskin would show up to admonish her for touching his things.

As she reached the doorway, she stopped, and quickly turning back, spoke softly to the room. “I’ll be back,” she said, smiling as she stepped into the dark hallway of the castle.

**X**

Each night, Belle returned to the room. She would walk through its aisles, exploring the wonders the room beheld. She would always tell herself that she would leave everything as is; nothing in that room was hers to take.

But, she would inevitably find an object that seemed…lonelier…than the rest. It would catch her attention, and Belle knew that if it could speak, it would ask her for a home. She could never deny anything its wishes (even inanimate objects), and so, every night, Belle carried a new item out of the room and into the darkness of hers.

One time, she discovered a set of platinum silverware which was now currently resting in a box on her nightstand. Another night, she brought back a nesting doll, which took a place of honor on her windowsill. Once, she even found an old teddy bear, clearly once loved and now forgotten. It sat on her bed, and when Belle fell asleep, she would hold it close praying that it could keep the nightmares away. 

Slowly, her room began to fill with the strange and wonderful objects. They brought life into her room, carefully dragging the shadows away inch by inch. Belle liked to believe that she was helping them as much as they helped her. She loved them, as much as one could love a thing, and overtime, the objects seemed less sad.

Belle seemed less sad, too.

She slowly began to smile more, and talk more. When Rumplestiltskin made a quip, she even found it in herself to laugh, once. He had seemed startled, but Belle could see that he was attempting to hide a smile behind his ducked head.

She would eat with him more, and began to wander the Dark Castle during the days. Winter was fading, and signs of Spring were popping up outside. Belle casually mentioned to Rumplestiltskin, one time, that she would like to try her hand at gardening. The next day, he presented her with a green house (“It’s been rather musty in here lately,” was his excuse). 

She established a routine: the day would be spent in her garden, the evening with her books. At night, she would wander the room and steal another object for her collection. Overtime, Belle had come to understand that everything in that room was unwanted—forgotten— in a way. They were ignored by their master until one day they disappeared, hoping he would notice. Of course, he never did. Rumplestiltskin had many pretty things. He wouldn’t realize if one went missing.

Belle tried to ignore the sting she felt at that thought.

So life went on in the Dark Castle, until, one day, Belle realized that she might—eventually—be all right.

It had been a normal day (or as normal a day as possible for her). She had been wandering through the room, the blue lights dancing around her, when she noticed a curious, lumpy, gingerbread-colored ball tucked into a corner. Belle was reminded of the games the boys in Avonlea used to play. She had always wanted to join, but proper young ladies did not play games in the dirt. Proper young ladies also did not live with monsters in their lairs, but she supposed she wasn’t much of a lady anymore.

Like most of the objects she found, it had an aura of deep sadness surrounding it. Yet, unlike the other items she collected, it seemed to be waiting for one person in particular to come find it. Belle knew that wasn’t her, but she was drawn to it nonetheless. 

She carefully picked it up, and although she was dusted with guilt, she ignored her feelings and hurriedly left the room. When she arrived back at her bedroom, she glanced around, noticing that there was hardly any space left anymore. Almost every corner was filled with some trinket or another. It was strange, how she hadn’t realized this happening. Even stranger was the fact that the crowdedness made her feel comforted instead of stifled.

She ended up leaving the ball next to what had become Rumplestiltskin’s chair. It felt as though it belonged there. 

It wasn’t until she was lying in bed early that morning that she realized she had thought about her old life without crying. She had thought about Avonlea without fear.

Belle almost laughed at the thought.

**X**

The next evening, Rumplestiltskin arrived in her room as Belle read by the window. He had been spending more time going about his own business, and was more often leaving Belle to herself. Still, he showed up every night to read with her. It was almost comfortable, if it weren’t for the undercurrent of unspoken feelings that flowed between them during every interaction.

But at the current moment, Belle was completely immersed in her novel (it was a wonderful epic about a brave warrior defeating a dragon). She barely noticed his entry, and would’ve continued paying him no mind if Rumplestiltskin hadn’t squeaked.

Belle looked up sharply, confused. It was a sound she expected to come from a mouse, not from the dreaded Dark One.

Rumplestiltskin did not notice Belle’s reaction. He was standing in the middle of the room, staring at his chair. A battle between horror and shock flashed across his face.

Belle couldn’t understand what was so surprising about a chair. She watched him curiously as he strode across the room, stopping in front of it. The firelight flickered across his scales, painting his face like a fiery, deadly sea. It was mystical, and Belle found herself getting lost in the changing colors. His sudden movement broke her out of her trance, as he bent down and picked up the ball she had collected the day before.

“Where did you get this?” he whispered

“I found it.” Rumplestiltskin twirled around, staring hard at Belle. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You found it?” he asked incredulously. “Where?”

“In a room.” Belle could practically feel Rumplestiltskin trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “It just suddenly appeared one day,” she went on before he could ask. “The whisper led me to it.”

“The whisper?”

“Yes. It sounded like the wind. I think it might be magical.” He started to say something—most likely a lecture on the dangers of unknown magic—but Belle interrupted. “It was perfectly safe. It was a very amiable whisper. Very kind.”

“Yes, because nothing that appeared kind ever turned out to be bad,” he sarcastically bit. Belle recoiled from him, and Rumplestiltskin instantly felt guilty. He sighed, his hand coming up to pinch his nose. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “You just…try to be more careful, okay?” Belle quickly nodded in agreement.

He sighed again. Belle carefully watched him, her expression guarded. 

Rumplestiltskin glanced back down at the item, twirling it in his hands. As she watched, the energy seemed to drain out of him as his eyes slowly took on a haunted look. “This ball was my son’s. After I became…” he trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he remembered a time long before Belle had even been a thought in the stars. “He didn’t have many friends,” he finally continued. “The kids in town were all afraid of me. None of them wanted to play with him, so he spent a lot of time alone. He would spend hours playing with this ball. One time, he tossed it into the street. A merchant ran into him and cut his leg.”

“What happened then?” Belle was uncertain of when the conversation had taken such a sudden turn for the deep, but she knew that she had to keep Rumplestiltskin talking. It was finally time for them to be honest. It was finally time for them to learn how to trust each other.

“I killed the merchant. I killed him because that’s the type of monster I am, Belle.” He looked up at her, unshed tears making his eyes sparkle in the firelight. “Because of me, my son was shunned by the town. And your town did the same. I only hurt those I love.”

Belle stopped breathing. Rumplestiltskin clearly hadn’t noticed what he said, but Belle’s world was turning rapidly, over and over, until the room began to blur together.

“Belle?” and she was violently brought back to the present. Rumplestiltskin was staring at her in concern.

“You love me.” It wasn’t a question.

Rumplestiltskin froze.

“It’s alright, Rumplestiltskin. I love you, too,” she said it so matter-of-factly. Rumplestiltskin was quite uncertain how he had found himself in this situation, but he did not like how it was turning out. “But, that’s not really a big deal. We both already knew that.”

“We did?”

“Yes. That kiss proved it. And if that wasn’t enough, you came back for me. Back, when I had been living in the Dark Castle, before…” she took a deep breath, before she continued, “before I left, I had always thought I was just another thing in your possession, another deal that didn’t matter at the end of the day. But then you came back for me. You never went back for any of this.” She pointed to everything in her room. “I must matter. I realized that before, but I finally _understand_ it now, after spending so many nights in that room.”

“You were never a thing,” Rumplestiltskin whispered. He didn’t know what else to say. Belle smiled.

“I know that, now. You didn’t even notice any of this stuff appearing in my room. It’s like it was all invisible. You certainly noticed when I reappeared. You didn’t leave my room for weeks.”

“I didn’t think you knew I was there.”

“Of course I did. But I didn’t know what that meant until I found that room.”

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were darting around her bedroom, as if he’d never even seen it before. “Everything in here came from there?” he questioned, picking up a small lantern. It emitted a strange, blue light and the soft smell of vanilla. He felt himself slowly becoming hypnotized by it, the tension easing out of his muscles before he managed to hastily put it down.

There was a pause, before Belle spoke. “I think everything in there was lost. I think that might be why I found it. Maybe because I’m a little lost, too.”

Rumplestiltskin did not know what to say. He stared at her in amazement for a few moments, as Belle wandered over to the lantern and lovingly stroked it.

“B-Belle,” he stuttered before clearing his throat. She jumped, as though she had forgotten he was even there. “Belle,” he tried again, “you’re not lost. You were never lost.”

“Yes, I am, Rumple. It’s okay. I’ve accepted it. I was lost, and you found me. You brought me back. You brought me home. Now, it’s my turn. Now, I get to do the finding.” She paused for a moment. “It’s helping me heal, Rumple, being needed by something.”

“I need you,” it slipped out before Rumplestiltskin even realized he thought it. His eyes widened and his scales darkened in a blush, but Belle only smiled, her hand coming up to cup his face. 

“I know.” She was placating him, and he could tell, and for some reason that angered him. He wanted to be brave, for once, for her. 

“No, Belle, you don’t know. You don’t get it, because I didn’t, either. This entire time, you’ve been scouring that room because you’ve been…lost, as you said. You wanted to find some place where you belong. Well, you belong here, with me. 

“When you left, I thought I was dead. I basically was. And then you returned and even though everything was _bad_ , it was still so much better than it had been. Because you were here. The castle is far less dark with your light inside it. _I’m_ far less dark. 

“Belle, all of this stuff was in that room because I forgot about it. You said that yourself. Well I never forgot about you. Every room felt your absence. I felt it in my heart. It was like a piece of me had walked out of here with you. 

“You see, Belle. You were never lost, because you were never forgotten. I need you. I have always needed you. You might be better because of that room, but I’m better because of you. You brought the light.”

Belle’s arms were suddenly around him. He made a shocked little noise deep in the back of his throat, as Belle buried her head into his neck. She trembled, but he could tell she wasn’t crying. Slowly, he raised his arms and hugged her back.

They stood that way, for some time, the firelight surrounding them and the smell of vanilla wafting through the air. Finally, Belle pulled back, her eyes shining with all the possibilities the future could hold. Rumplestiltskin reached up to caress her cheek, his fingers tingling as they made contact with her skin. She smiled at him, as though he held the sun (and not the moon) in his heart.

“We’re going to be all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “We’re going to be all right.” 

And in that moment, Rumplestiltskin and Belle just existed, together. Behind them, the stars shone brightly through the window as the wind slowly died down.


End file.
